Euphoria
by Isolith
Summary: Celebrating divorce, red wine and whiskey, the past and the present, something in-between, to share in the euphoria.


_Summary:_ Sharon and Provenza bond over drinks, celebrating the finalization of divorce.

…

**Euphoria **

…

He finds her in a smoke-covered bar of all places, already tipsy judging from the rosy cheeks and the little squeal that erupts cheerily from her lips when she recognizes him. Maybe more than tipsy he decides when she welcomes his presence with a wave, two fingers merrily in the air as she indicates the seat next to her.

He gives an exaggerated shrug, the subsequent eye roll for good measure at the line to ordering drinks. From his vantage point she is a study in profile, the half-dark corner she has chosen painting her with shadows and it reminds him of a deity ascended from below. Dangerous in the dark and something else out in the light.

The queue quickly dissipates and he orders a large size of whiskey, the tumbler in his hand a convenient distraction when he joins her in the far corner. He sits down opposite her instead of next to her, the little pout that appears on her mouth a peculiar happenstance that he ascribes to inebriation.

He clinks his tumbler with her wine glass, noting the stain of Cabernet already on her lips smudged together with lipstick. He mumbles 'cheers', her tone higher than his. He watches her instead of sipping whiskey, the way her eyes close and the way she tilts the wine glass a fraction, her lips dark against the rim. She is the last person he expects to find sensual; and yet here in the dark light of a tawdry bar, the buzz of voices and the play of shadows across her throat when she sips red wine is nothing but sensual.

It's a dangerous feeling, easily hidden and forgotten under different circumstances but this evening it remains out in the open, in the very air he inhales.

She opens her eyes, the color rendered even more mysterious by his perception. An aura of deception when she coyly looks away, the flutter of eyelashes dark. As much as it escapes him he recognizes the underlying look, behind the façade, however buried it is. With five divorces behind him he knows the emotion that has her in this habitat for the evening.

Yet there's something different about her pain. An old pain like an overgrown ruin, vegetation wild and out-of-order. He thinks she has visited this particular ruin to the point where it has become familiar; an unwelcome shadow. Tonight however it is goodbye. An anticipated goodbye that brings to life euphoria in her eyes and it is this sight that has him joining in, ecstatic tendrils pervading the space in their corner.

She should be celebrating in even higher spirits and he tells her as much.

She giggles and sips more wine, an arched eyebrow that he takes as a token.

…

Later on it is her lips that catches his attention, close to his ear with a huff of breath as she whispers what is supposed to be a joke, the gist of it lost in a giggle and exhalation.

His mouth has a will of its own and he smiles back at her, well-aware he has no clue what she is saying. At this point they are both well-blown away by alcohol, the number of refills hazy in his recollection. He is conscious enough to scramble together something to nibble on though when he is on his way back from the toilet, the salty peanuts he deposits on the table received with raised glasses. Her slender fingers curl around the stem of her wine glass, a thumb along in a caress on the curve of the goblet and it's a mesmerizing sight with this much whiskey in his body. Even more so when she brings the rim to her mouth.

He leans closer, seated next to her, and continues with his morbid recounting of what happened long long ago; he never tires of remembering those first meetings he had with her ages ago, the inevitably grudge that was born and then neatly punctured decades later. It's a mystery to him but she joins in, eyes on him crinkled with mirth as she shakes her head and intervenes. Her version is different, naturally. In her world view he sounds like an asshole.

The past is fortunately left behind, the present more enticing.

…

Much later – much much later – they stumble through the exit door into the night air, none too steady on their feet. She curls herself around his arm reminding him of the undercover stunt two years back; she seems more balanced with her arm around his, and he inadvertently tries to watch her walk. His eyes on the ground bring nothing but vertigo and yet he stills lingers a second in watching her black heels taking synchronized steps with his own shoes.

They wait for a cab in the brisk night, side-by-side and gazes lost into the darkness outside the street lamps. He thinks he does not mind having her on his arm.

…

He wonders if she has fallen asleep, her head heavy on his shoulder in the backseat of the cab. He wonders if this is how she sounds like asleep, small little breaths warm and almost soundless, the outline of her body nestled against his side.

He decides she is wide awake when her fingers land somewhere above his knee, the slender fingers even more elongated in the shallow light in the backseat, light from outside the car window falling intermittently on the white skin. He is mesmerized by the appearance of veins and the touch that feels like a caress on his thigh.

…

For her own safety he guides her to the front door of her apartment complex, his eyes forcibly on the 1109 plate on her door and not her backside when she fumbles with the key and keyhole for a long moment. The click of success is displayed by a giggle and he smiles to himself, the tone so unlike her and yet it is what he has come to equate with her. In a rare need to bestow affection he finds himself deviating towards her when she spins around, goodbye on her lips.

Two steps and it's an embrace, her lithe frame neat against his own stocky figure.

Her hair tingle his nose, the scent overwhelming even in his state of inebriation. The feel of her arms tightening around him and the little sigh that accompany her reciprocation overpowers him.

He quickly let's go because a second more of being this close to her and it will only backfire. Frankly, he already knows too much. The feel of her lips against his ear; the feel of her fingers on his wrist; the knowledge of how it feels to embrace her. Her hand on his thigh; her eyes dark with fondness; the shared euphoria. Simply, it's too much already.

For all the good it does him, he thinks with disdain, distancing himself only ends with a goodnight kiss on her cheek, sloppy and out of the blue. He can't end it with only one, pulled in by gravity to bestow another kiss on her cheek, hurried the second time and too close to the edge of her mouth.

Before he can disappear, her fingers grip his sleeve, stopping him in motion. She let's go but not before her smile has blown through him.

A smile that invitably follows him all the way home like the aftermath of an explosion. It follows him into bed along with her scent, his alcohol-doused mind bringing up a myriad of strange scenarios as he falls into sleep and dreams.

…

Sigh. Well, those two gave me feelings out of the blue.


End file.
